


The Kraken's Daughter: Argonautica

by miniCrisGM



Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst and Feels, Beto and co. get in trouble as always, Comedy, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Greek gods, SPOILERS for the first part!, sequel to The Kraken's Daughter, sexiness ensues, there's smut early on here I promise, this time in the Mediterranean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:28:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28313088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miniCrisGM/pseuds/miniCrisGM
Summary: Five years after the events in The Kraken's Daughter, Beto has yet again to go looking for Hector Barbossa inside a Turkish prison, and whatever brought him there will take her on a bigger adventure than she'd ever imagined...
Relationships: Hector Barbossa/Original Female Character(s), Hector Barbossa/Reader
Comments: 5
Kudos: 21





	The Kraken's Daughter: Argonautica

**Author's Note:**

> Merry Christmas, everyone! Consider this a sort of Santa Claus present from me :D
> 
> This has been a ride and a lovely epilogue to my story about Beto Jones, so I hope you all enjoy it as much as I have!

“In there?”

“Yes”.

“All three of them?”

“Yes”.

“Forgive me if this sounds a little basic, but… _how?_ ”

“Did you really expect any better from them?”

“I expect nothing, and still I’m let down”.

You pursed your lips and looked overboard at the massive structure that loomed in the distance. Next to you, Elizabeth shuffled uncomfortably as a member of the crew came up to her to whisper something in her ear. The man made sure to steer clear of you, but you didn’t pay him any mind. In the last five years you’d grown used to people scuttling away every time you made an appearance anywhere and, truth be told, you enjoyed it. The discomfort you instilled in people, sometimes even fear, as both you and your fame travelled the Seven Seas with Itzpapalotl’s obsidian wings in your wake, made you feel powerful and invincible, and given the grim task you had to carry out, it was a feeling you couldn’t get enough of.

You certainly hoped it would prove to be more than a feeling given your new target.

“Do we have plans of the place?”

“None exist”.

“Bullshit. There are _always_ plans. Or do you think builders work blind?”

“It’s said that every single man that worked on building this prison was executed afterwards, their bodies thrown to the sea”.

“My kind of people”.

Elizabeth looked at you and crossed her arms. Her hair had gone lighter in the last few years, perhaps a consequence of the sun that shone down on her every day that she spent at sea.

“You know, you’re not half as bad as you pretend you are”.

“No”, you agreed, and gave her a wolfish grin. “I’m worse”.

Given that your husband was the Pirate Lord of the Caspian Sea, you’d travelled quite often around the coast of Turkey, although you didn’t much like it. It was too far away from the Caribbean for your taste, outside Chalchiuhtlicue’s and Mictlantecuhtli’s sphere of influence, and you were never at your best when you sailed the Mediterranean.

That being said, it also had some pretty amazing things.

“Maccus”, you called your First Mate as soon as you returned aboard the _Dutchman_. “Get me five men; not the strongest but the stealthiest. This is gonna require finesse”.

Maccus nodded but he couldn’t help giving you a little grin.

“What happened to your usual approach to storming strongholds, captain? No bombs or guns this time?”

You reciprocated the grin.

“Give me time. You’ll be surprised”.

Elizabeth had brought her own _Empress_ , a rebuilt version of Sao Feng’s vessel, equally stunning and comfortable but now also equipped to blow to smithereens any idiot that dared cross her way. Nothing less would suit the Pirate Queen, after all.

You agreed to leave both of your ships at a safe distance from the prison, taking advantage of the cover of night, which made them indistinguishable from the pitch-black sky, and you’d move on your own with a few hand-picked members of your crew to the prison. You only had a couple of hours before the sun rose and you were discovered, so you had to make every minute count.

As you boarded a dinghy and met Elizabeth, which wasn’t an easy feat in the darkness of the night, your eyes couldn’t help being drawn to the prison once more.

Its silhouette was visible thanks to the hundreds of torches that lit up its surface, giving it an otherworldly look that rivalled that of your own _Flying Dutchman_. At least the _Dutchman_ had a somewhat comforting shape: for all its cursed nature, it still was a ship with a hull, a rudder and sails. This… This is an abomination. In the darkness it looks like a fleshy mass, full of lumps and protrusions, and one would even say it breathed, with slow pumps, biding its time.

The cages that hang from its various levels didn’t help to make it any more welcoming. They jutted out from every side of it, giving the prison a disjointed feeling, and the screams of the men that were being kept there… The stuff of nightmares.

Of course Barbossa, Jack and Will had had to get themselves caught and imprisoned here. Of course.

Elizabeth muttered something in Chinese under her breath to her men and they nodded. She then turned to you.

“We’ll take the lower floors. You scan the upper building – they must be there somewhere. Rumour has it that the high security cells are at the very top”.

“I’ll take it as a compliment that you leave those to me”.

“Out of the two of us, you’re the only one who can’t die, so I figured you wouldn’t mind too much. Be careful of the warden: name’s Mordillah, built like a boulder, but quite sharp-witted. Not a fellow you’d like to cross”.

“Oh, he sounds like a fellow I’d _absolutely_ love to cross. Remind me again why our sweethearts are in there?”

Elizabeth stirred, clearly uncomfortable. She’d avoided your questions before, when she first came to you to ask for help, but you’d gone along with her because you simply couldn’t leave Barbossa stranded on one of the worst prisons on earth. Now you wanted answers.

“Will was looking for something. Something I asked him to find. As for Jack and Barbossa, well, I imagine they were after the same thing and got caught in the same net”.

“And what exactly is this something you were fixated upon enough to send your dearly beloved into the jaws of the Turks?”

“We’ll get to that when we get to that! It’s not important. What _is_ important now is getting them out of here”.

You eyed her suspiciously, but then shrugged. You’d find out, sooner or later. And, indeed, time was of the essence.

You disembarked on a crag at the back of the prison. There were no guards – why, when nobody left there walking on their own two feet? Just as well for you. Judging from the stench that seeped from the rocks themselves, they dumped the corpses of the prisoners there.

So close to the sea, yet so far away from the sweet eternal paradise that was Tlalocan. You felt sorry for those poor souls.

The two groups huddled around their leaders. Elizabeth pointed to the entrance of the building, a massive iron door from which light spilled, revealing several thugs guarding it and half a dozen cages hanging from the top.

The waves broke against the rocks around you.

“Going through there is madness. There’s supposed to be another door near here, but we must be silent – and no lights! Beto, do you agree?”

“Sounds good for you people! Good luck and see you at dawn!”

Elizabeth opened her eyes in surprise.

“What do you mean ‘see you at dawn’? Aren’t you coming with?”

“My dearest, dearest Elizabeth. You know my motto: _go big or go home_ ”.

And shooting her one last smile and a wave, you and the sailors of the _Flying Dutchman_ walked into the rocks.

You’d spent your whole childhood envying your father and your crewmates for their ability to merge into their surroundings and travel effortlessly from one place to another, surging from the wood of the _Dutchman_ like immaterial phantoms. So of course you were overjoyed to discover that you too could do that as the new captain of the _Flying Dutchman_.

It was a strange experience. Your body lost its feeling, its materiality, its weight, but somehow you retained your awareness of it, all the while sensing whatever material you’d walked into closing in around you. You had to fumble in the dark, as if every light in the world had gone out, and if you hadn’t seen the horrors and the depths of Tlalocan you’d have gone mad very early one. But somehow your sense of direction was also heightened, and you only needed to concentrate on where you wanted to go, to picture it in your mind, to know how to get there.

And so you walked on in the darkness, with the weight of the rock and the whole prison bearing down on you, followed by your crew, until you emerged in an open balcony at the very top of the prison.

You breathed in, filling your lungs with as much air as you could. Up here, at least, the stench of rotting corpses and festering wounds wasn’t as bad. Your men looked at you, expectantly.

“Okay, lads. Let’s go”.

You separated, each taking a different corridor, and you scanned every cell you passed, trying to find a familiar face.

The prison was secure enough for the guards to fall into a reckless lassitude. Why bother guarding properly a place from which it was impossible to escape? The corridors were almost empty, and the first guard you came across didn’t see you coming until you slit his throat with your blade.

The bloody idiots fell one by one, and the dazed prisoners, still not entirely convinced that the shadow of death that was sweeping through their own personal hell was real, began to murmur, first in shallow voices, slowly building up a ruckus that swept over the top floors of the prison. You only hoped it would take a while for any reinforcements to come – and that Elizabeth was doing her job in the lower area.

It was just as good that you’d taken the top floors. You soon came to a bigger cell, with an open ceiling that allowed the moonlight to drift into the room and the rain to fall on the heads of the three men tied to three wooden posts at the centre of it.

Voilà.

“Hey, bitches”.

Barbossa was the first one to look up. He fixed his eyes on you, as if he too believed you were some kind of hallucination. You could see he’d been beaten pretty badly. Anger began to roil inside you and you clutched your sword hard enough to break it.

“Beto”.

“Hector. You stood me up last week at Road Town”.

“I was a little busy getting put in chains, as you can see”.

“Excuses. I never let chains stop me from doing whatever I wanted to”.

“What are you doing here?”, spat out Will, who had a black eye and a trickle of blood running down the side of his mouth.

“Ah, Turner. I’d half hoped you’d be dead already. Careful with that mouth o’yours or I may be inclined to leave you exactly where I found you”.

You’d only seen Will Turner once since he’d treacherously stabbed Davy Jones’ heart in the heart of the maelstrom, and you’d attempted to tear out his throat with your own bear hands. It had been madness. Only Elizabeth, stepping between you two, had managed to keep you at bay, pleading for the man she loved, and only out of the friendship you bore her did you grudgingly agree to spare the whelp’s life.

After that, he’d been excruciatingly careful not to cross paths with you again.

“I’m surprised you’re not shooting me in the face right now”, he taunted you.

“Don’t give me ideas. Elizabeth wouldn’t like that much”.

“Elizabeth is here?”, he gasped.

“A proper search party for us then”, laughed Barbossa.

“Why don’t I feel very reassured at you and dear Elizabeth coming to find us?”, said Jack, finally weighing into the conversation.

“This isn’t the Locker, Jack, but I’d say it’s way worse”. You squatted down so you were level with their faces. “What exactly did you come to look for here?”

“Can’t we have this conversation outside?”

“Nope”.

“We were looking for the _Argo_ ”.

Your head snapped to Barbossa, and both Will and Jack shoot daggers at him, but he looked unfazed.

“ _Argo_? As in Jason’s ship, _Argo_?”

“The very same one”.

“You know that’s a story, right?”

“So were you until you climbed up to my ship and kicked me in the balls”.

You smirked, reminiscing. Yeah, you’d done that.

“There was supposed to be a map to get to the ship hidden somewhere in this prison”, explained Jack. “So here we are”.

“So all three of you separately had the same great idea to infiltrate the prison and then got caught? Really?”

“They think we’re working together – which we’re _not_!”, said Will.

“We are now”, added Jack.

“I’ve half a mind to leave you here, you halfwits. What, I suppose that Will wanted _Argo_ to add it to Elizabeth’s fleet, Jack to have again a ship of its own, right?” Their faces told you all you needed to know and you laughed. “My, my, you are easier to read than an open book! But you, Hector, why did you want the _Argo_? You have you own ship, you have the _Pearl_ ”.

“ _My_ ship”, corrected Jack, but Barbossa ignored him. He stared at you, pursing his lips. As if trying to say ‘not in front of them’. You shrugged. Fine by you.

“Pity. I prefer my men tied up”.

“I’m sure you do, but if you wouldn’t mind…”

You obligingly cut the three pirates lose, and as soon Will got to his feet you punched him square in the face. He fell down with a groan, clutching his nose, and you smiled.

“I owed you that”.

Will was about to reply in kind but then thought better of it. Good.

The prison was utter chaos after Elizabeth had caused mayhem in the lower floors and the guards of the upper ones had found the string of corpses you’d left on your way to Barbossa and the others. Some of the prisoners had managed to free themselves, knocking out fleeing guards against the cell bars and stealing the keys, and you managed to slip away rather inconspicuously, just a few more men amongst the general chaos.

That was until you began to hear screams of pain coming from the way ahead.

“I don’t like the sound of that”, said Jack with a grimace.

“I do”, you replied, and charged head-first against the man that appeared at the end of the corridor.

Describing him as a man was an understatement. You’d never seen so much flesh together on one person. He had more muscles tan any human body should, arms and legs like the trunks of a baobab and a jet-black beard with two eyes that gleamed like rubies.

The apparition bellowed at threw a punch at you, but you saw it coming and ducked in time, tackling him as you went. But he was made of steel and you barely made him retreat a few steps.

“So you’re the little rat that has snuck into my prison?”

His voice was deep and coarse. You spat.

“I don’t sneak. I come in with a bang”.

“I’ll rip your bloody head off”.

You grinned.

“I’d like to see you try”.

Mordillah – for he couldn’t be anyone else but the prison warden you’d heard so much about – ran for you and threw his arms at you. You parried and punched him, barely making a dent, and he imitated you, striking you on the jaw and making a ripple go through your body.

You crashed against the wall, pushed by the momentum of his punch, and fell limply to the floor, and Mordilla took advantage of your momentary weakness and sat on top of you, putting all his weigh on your sternum so you couldn’t move. Then, in one swift movement, he wrapped his arm around your throat and pushed.

The air was immediately cut off your lungs.

“End of the road, little rat”, he cackled.

He pushed and pushed and pushed and then…

“Buddy, I could do this all day”, you said, with the most bored voice you could muster.

Mordillah hesitated, startled, and you used those precious seconds to reach for your sword, a wholly obsidian blade, and plunged it into his neck.

The warden opened his mouth and blood rushed out. He gaped a few times, as if he couldn’t understand, couldn’t believe that he was dying, and fell. His blood pooled at his side, warm and bubbly in the cold night air, but you didn’t have time to even feel repulsed.

“Go, go, go!”, you screamed, pushing Mordillah’s body away from you and getting to your feet.

Barbossa, Will and Jack followed you, with your men closing the way in case any more guards came for you, although you strongly believed that they’d have their hands full with the death of their warden.

You ran downstairs, cursing under your breath your companions’ inability to walk through walls, and after slaying a few more confused guards that had the misfortune of walking into your path, you reached the front door, almost bumping into Elizabeth and her crew, who were just emerging from the lower cells.

“Will!”, she screamed and ran to hug him. You hoped she didn’t ask after her husband’s battered nose.

The outside of the prison was just as uninviting and hostile as you remembered it, and even slightly more so due to the storm that had begun while you lot were inside. The waves now crashed against the rocks of the island as if they wanted to break them and the sea was pitch-black, with only the slightest hint of the sun beginning to climb over the horizon.

“So what do you propose we do now?”, yelled Barbossa, trying to make himself heard over the storm. Behind you, inside the prison, a growing hubbub of voiced and feet told you the guards were coming after you.

The whole group stared at you, waiting for your orders, as if there weren’t three other captains with you. You groaned.

“Say, sweetie, do you know how to swim?”, you asked sarcastically and pushed a startled Barbossa into the water.

The rest of the group gasped but you didn’t give them time to react before you also jumped into the crashing waves, enjoying once again the refreshing feel of the water against your skin. Grabbing Barbossa, who was thrashing to stay afloat, you swam away from the prison after hearing a few more plops in the water, signalling that Elizabeth and the rest had followed suit, and swam until you felt a familiar pressure appearing from below and the deck of the _Dutchman_ emerged from the depths, carrying you and Barbossa to safety.

At the side of your ship, slowly bobbing away from the prison, the _Empress_ picked up her captain and her stray crew.

“I would say thanks are in order, but after shamelessly pushing me off a cliff I don’t if I should kiss you or strangle you”, Barbossa grumbled, drying off his jacket and sash, which were soaking wet, as were you both.

“Let me make that decision for you”, you replied, and you threw your arms around Barbossa’s neck and kissed him passionately. Everybody on deck made sure they looked away and busied themselves elsewhere, and you entwined your bodies as if nothing else mattered, and for a while nothing did.

When a couple of weeks back he hadn’t turned up at the appointed time and appointed place, you’d know something was wrong. Very wrong. In all the years you’d been together he’d never missed a single date, no matter what, and you’d feared the worst. You searched for him and the _Pearl_ , employing every natural and supernatural means at your disposal, and when you found the ship, you found it captain-less. Gibbs trembled at the sight of you, jumping aboard with Itzpapalotl’s winged shadow trailing behind you, and he shuddered at the prospect of having to explain to you why your husband had gone missing.

It was just his luck that Elizabeth appeared at almost the same time to ask you to help her free Will from a botched job in a prison, and all the pieces had come together.

You held onto Barbossa as if you feared he’d disappear again if you let him go, and he planted another kiss on your forehead.

“If I hadn’t saved you from almost certain death, I’d want to kill you for risking your life like that”, you muttered.

“Oh, it was worth it”, he grinned.

“Was it?”

Without a word, he slipped a folded piece of paper from inside his vest and handed it to you. Frowning, you opened it up.

It was a map of the Aegean Sea, with every island carefully drawn and a big fat red X on the northern shore of the Black Sea.

You looked back at Barbossa, who smiled at you gleefully. You then looked back at the big fat red X.

“What’s this supposed to be?”

“What the hell do you mean what’s this supposed to be? A map! To _Argo_!”

“Yes, it looks like a most _accurate_ map to a legendary ship”.

He snatched the map out of your hands.

“No need for you to use it if you don’t like it”.

“Hector, why are you so fixated with this _Argo_? You have the _Pearl_ , why go looking for another ship?”

Barbossa didn’t reply, but you knew that silence meant he was looking for words. You didn’t yet understand his motivation, but it was clearly important to him.

“I don’t want to get left behind”, he finally confessed.

“Left behind? Whatever do you mean?”

“You’re immortal now! You’re captain of a magical ship! But I’m neither. I’m old, and human, and the _Pearl_ won’t last forever. I thought that maybe, if I found _Argo_ and the legends turned out to be true, then…”

“Then you could be with me forever? Is that it?”

Your hands trembled. Tears bit at your eyes, and you fought to hold them back. He’d never said anything like that to you before, not without such certainty and commitment. He was talking of an unspeakable sacrifice, all to be with you. Choking back a sob, you kissed him again, wrapping your arms around him, and Barbossa buried his face in your hair.

“I’ll get you that ship, Hector”, you said, voice taut with emotion. “I’ll get you that ship if it’s the last thing I do”.

“The makings of our very own fleet”, he smiled at you, and you beamed at him.

“Commodore Barbossa”.

“That’ll do”.

“Maccus!”, you called your First Mate, trying not to raise your voice too much for fear that the Empress would hear you; you didn’t want to raise any alarms. “Send a message to the _Pearl_. We leave immediately northwards. We mustn’t be followed”.

“Yes, Chief”, he replied, as the _Dutchman_ burst into action around you. Barbossa looked around in wonder: it never ceased to amaze him how the _Dutchman_ seemed to be always submerged in water, its crew moving in a fashion that set them completely apart from mortal human beings, with that otherworldly gleam set into their skins and their eyes. They were still cursed, but this time they embraced their fate and they’d follow their captain to the darkest corners of Tlalocan.

“Elizabeth isn’t going to like this”, you told him, but you both knew it was a moot point: as Pirate Queen, Elizabeth had been through more mutinies and attempts on her life than she could count, and this? This would barely make a dent on her. She knew that the first one always takes the prize, and you’d been faster than her. For now.

Barbossa embraced you from behind and kissed your neck playfully. A warm feeling ran through you. How long had it been since the last time you’d had time to be properly together? Too long, for sure.

“Are you impeding me in my duties, sir?”, you asked playfully, still clutching the helm, as Barbossa continued trailing kisses down your neck and collar bone.

“Will you punish me for it?”, he replied, and you felt your gut jolting in excitement.

“Do you want to be punished?”, you purred.

“Maybe so”.

Your bit your lip and ordered one of your mates to stand in for you. Trying not to seem too eager, you led Barbossa by the hand to the bowels of the ship. You’d taken over your father’s cabin as a study and office, leaving it intact for the most part, especially the organ, which you sometimes attempted to play with the utmost reverence, usually with terrible results, but you’d kept your own cabin for sleeping. It was big enough to be comfortable and it felt more ‘yours’ than anywhere on the ship.

The cracked mirror still reminded you of that dark day when you’d thought of carving up your heart.

Thank the gods your father had stopped you.

You pushed Barbossa into the cabin and closed the door, and as soon as the bolt clicked into place, his lips were hungrily on yours. You wanted to bite him, you wanted him to bite you, to leave little marks everywhere on your body as you squirmed under him.

You fumbled blindly with the buttons and buckles in his clothes, all the while kissing him as if was the last thing you’d do. The bed appeared under your feet and you toppled over, falling on top of Barbossa with a grunt. His fingers were meshed in your haird, slowly working his way down your neck and your back as he undressed you.

You straddled him. You loved the feeling of power and dominance, the hardness of your lover’s body under you. Barbossa grinned wickedly and you leaned in to kiss him.

“So how should I punish you?”, you purred, undoing the buttons of his shirt one by one. “A rival captain, boarding my ship and trying to take over my helm”.

“I suppose that be callin’ for the capital punishment, ain’t it?”

“I’ll have you crying out my name before the night’s over, cap’n”.

“I bet you will”.

Barbossa’s hands caressed your shoulders and shed what was left of your shirt on them. His eyes roamed all over your skin and you felt every spot they landed in warm up and tickle. You wanted his hands on you so badly.

You gently took his hands and placed them on your breasts. His skin was rough and calloused and you couldn’t help a little moan escaping you when his fingertips began circling your nipples.

“You’re beautiful”, he groaned.

“Am I now”, you said, and grabbed his crotch. Barbossa grunted in pleasure as your hand caressed the length of him over his breeches, his erect form already pushing against the leather.

Barbossa tried to push himself up to kiss you but you forced him back down as you undid his belt and took him in your mouth.

It gave you so much pleasure to give it to him, to feel him tremble and jolt in your mouth, your tongue travelling through every fold of skin. Barbossa grunted and moaned and grabbed onto your hair and you redoubled your efforts. Every little sound that left his mouth was a triumph to you and you felt arousal wash over you, moisture pooling between your legs.

“Shit… Beto…”, he moaned.

It was too tempting to resist.

You drew a hand down your already unbuttoned breeches and between your thighs. You were so very wet of feeling Barbossa’s hardness inside your mouth and when your first finger touched your folds, you felt a spark going through your body.

But it wasn’t enough.

As you pleasured Barbossa with your mouth, playing with his glans, your tongue drawing shapes across his shaft, your free hand explored your own body, delving into you, fingers playfully stroking your folds and your clit. Ecstasy began to build up and you sped up. You wanted more, more, more…

You and Barbossa came almost at the same time with each other’s names of on your lips, and you fell back onto the bed, exhausted.

You grinned.

“I told ya I’d be having you screaming my name tonight”.

“Aye, you’re a woman of yer word”, he cackled, and then he took you in. Semi-naked, wet all over, with a pleased smile on your face. “Why, it seems you’ve been having fun on your own”.

“Wouldn’t you know it. Wanna join in?”

“Don’t mind me if I do”.

Barbossa approached you, crawling across the bed, and as his lips found yours again, his fingers began to explore you down below.

You were still wet and demanding and so very sensitive from before, so as soon as his thumb rubbed your clit you moaned. Barbossa bit your lip with rapture and you kissed as he pushed two and then three fingers inside you, squeezing the sweet spot above your clit that made you see sparkles.

“Will this serve as means of apology?”

“Not nearly good enough yet”, you managed to articulate, and you breathed into his ear. “I want you inside me, Hector”.

It took a heartbeat for him to obey.

Before you knew it you were on your back against the bed, Barbossa atop you kissing every single inch of your skin, from your neck to your breasts to your belly, marking every scar and wound with his tongue.

What use would holding back be? You gave in to the pleasure and moaned with abandon, and when Barbossa entered you, in one confident thrust, your back arched with ecstasy.

“Hector… Oh, Hector”, you moaned as he pressed his chest against you and kissed you neck, almost biting it, leaving marks everywhere his lips touched. You felt him deep inside you, tapping every single spot you wanted him to, as his fingers closed around your breasts and circled your nipples, erect and taut by now.

You were close. You were so close you almost taste your orgasm now, building up at your core, where Barbossa kept rubbing and pounding and still you wanted more, more, _more_.

“I’m gonna come, Hector”, you mumbled.

“Come for me, love”, he whispered in your ear. His voice was thick with desire and you were pretty sure he was close too. “Come for me”.

“Hector… Hector!”

You came, arching your back into him and digging your nails into his back. You rode your orgasm, wave after wave washing over you just as Barbossa came too, your name on his lips, and you both fell limply onto the bed, a sweaty mess of arms, legs and happiness.

“I love you”, you managed to say before both of you, exhausted from the day’s adventures, fell asleep.

…

The storm raged against the hulls of the _Pearl_ and the _Dutchman_ , battering the sailors that tried as hard as they could to keep the ship in one piece. You and Barbossa had been woken without much ceremony by a concerned Maccus, and your lover had had to run to his ship before the thunderstorm got much worse.

And oh boy it had.

You couldn’t see a thing before you, and you clutched the steering wheel with enough force to crack the wood. The currents pulled at you from below, steering the ship off its course, and you had to fight them with all your might.

“Chief!”, someone yelled, and you saw Maccus coming towards you, soaked to the bone, with fear in his eyes. You were also dripping wet, with your hair stuck to your face. Behind Maccus, Johnny Legs barked orders at the men on deck. “Can’t you do something about this?”

“This is the Mediterranean, you idiot!”, you yelled back. “Olympian territory! We’re not welcome here and Their power is very limited! We have to handle this the old way!”

“Do you even know where we are now!?”

“Somewhere out at sea, I’d reckon!”, you replied and laughed like a maniac. It was exhilarating to every once in a while find yourself in a pinch. Immortality made things just a little bit duller, but here you could feel the animosity coming from the water itself, from gods as old as the ones you served, that wanted you gone.

But there were worse things that gods in these waters.

By the time the storm cleared, the next morning, both crews were exhausted and you and Barbossa agreed a short pause to let them rest. It would not do to go into the unknown with men that could barely hold a sword.

“I don’t think we’re being followed”, you commented from the quarterdeck of the _Pearl_ , looking down on the sea that now surrounded you, now complete doldrums.

“It would be a miracle if we were”, replied Barbossa with his spyglass. Too long, too stiff. You struggled not to make a lewd comment. “What with that storm. Bloody hell”.

“Have you ever sailed the Aegean in winter? Nightmare”.

“Coming from you it doesn’t sound very reassuring. Where in seven drowned hells are we?”

“I have a very strong suspicion and I really, _really_ want to be wrong”.

Barbossa followed your eyes to the straits that awaited in front of you. Two masses of land stood blocking your way, save for a tiny, narrow channel that ran between the two of them. It was all green pasture, almost idyllic, but that channel had an ominous feeling to it, beckoning at you from the distance.

“What’s that?”

“Sicily. And that’s Calabria. _That_ ”, you said, pointing to the channel, “is the strait of Messina”.

You waited for a reaction but none came.

“Is that supposed to mean something to me?”

“Have you read the _Odyssey_ , Hector?”

“Of course I have. You know it”.

You did. He’d fucked you against his library enough times for you to know the titles of his books by heart.

“Then do the names Scylla and Charybdis ring any bells?”

You let the information sink in for a minute and then saw Barbossa’s face change from confusion to sheer dread. He looked again at the strait, now even closer, and cursed under his breath.

“Fuck. Fucking hell. Can we turn back?”

“We’re too close, we’d need the ships to turn on their axis. It’s too shallow to risk breaching the hulls”.

“Then what do we do?”

“We brace ourselves”, you replied, succinctly. “And you pray for me to be strong enough”.

You sent word to the _Dutchman_ to stay close by, enough for you to feel the tug of your own ship at the back of your mind, and concentrated on the gaping chasm that now swallowed the _Pearl_ as it gently bobbed over the water.

The men huddled together and approached you and their captain. Once inside the strait, which was thatched with massive slates of rock, forming an intricate labyrinth of caverns above the water. The temperature dropped dramatically. Something moved above you.

You breathed in.

…

_It’s been a while since you last called for me, Cihuaconetlatl._

“What, have you missed me?”

_You’re a long way from home. I don’t like it here._

“Neither do I, especially not now”.

_You’re not strong enough._

“That doesn’t speak too well of you and your master, does it though?”

Teeth ground together screeching as if two rocks ground against each other.

“I need your help. Your protection. For my ship and the _Pearl_ ”.

_You ask for many things._

“Come on. Humour me. Haven’t I given you entertainment in the last five years?”

Then the first blow came. A guttural roar shook the cavern and the water, making the two ships tremble like walnut shells, and a massive claw plunged from above towards the _Pearl_.

The talons, curved and sharp, crashed against an invisible barrier, sparks flying everywhere, and the cavern shook again with a second angry roar. Barbossa and his men looked around, trying to figure out what had just happened, but you didn’t give them much time to wonder.

“Get the oars! _Get the fucking oars!_ We have to sail through this bloody channel as fast as we can!”

“Beto!”

Your knees buckled to the floor and Barbossa ran to you. You were bleeding from the palm of your hand and from your earlobes, which you’d sliced open to summon every force you could from Mictlan. By your side, invisible to all but you, Itzpapalotl looked at the monster that loomed over your heads and scuffed. You groaned and panted.

_Poor unfortunate soul. She did not deserve the fate that men gave her. Should I finish her off?_

Spittle from the monstruous dog heads that leaned out of the cavern drooled over the _Pearl_ , terrifying the men out of thei minds. One of the heads darted for the ship, maws open and eager, only to find itself rejected again by the barrier that Itzpapalotl had drawn around the two vessels. The _Pearl_ accelerated and you were glad, for you wouldn’t be able to hold on much longer. To withstand such a powerful attack and to summon the Obsidian Butterfly so far away from the Caribbean was taking a terrible toll on your body.

Your blood pooled at the floor. You noticed your nose had started bleeding too.

“Beto!”, shouted Barbossa, trying to hold you upright.

“No”, you managed to mutter, “don’t… kill her. It’s not… our turf… It’s not… her fault…”

“Beto!”

_You have too much pity in you, Cihuaconetlatl. But we’ll teach you otherwise._

It was a matter of dumb luck that the _Pearl_ and the _Dutchman_ managed to evade the last swipe of Scylla’s claws and finally, after what had seemed like a lifetime, emerge out of the other side of the strait, out of the monster’s reach. The men began to cheer and whoop and your mouth tasted dry and leathery. You had to warn them, to steer the ship to the coast, immediately, but you could barely move. Your head swam, and all you could hear was Itzpapalotl’s metallic laugh in your ears.

“Beto, answer me!”

Barbossa was shaking you, terrified. He’d never seen you in such a state, but then again, he’d never seen you use that much power so far away from home. Gods were not something to summon lightly, and you still had need of them. But this time you were going to need someone bigger, someone strong enough to protect you from what you were about to tip into. Someone closer to you.

“Hey, what’s that?”

“Hm? I can’t see anything?”

“Waves? No, it looks like a whirlpool”.

“Another whirlpool? Man…”

“Hey, it’s getting bigger! Turn the ship! Turn the ship!”

You really hoped she wouldn’t bail on you on this one. The men started to scream as the current became stronger. The whirlpool opened its maws and the whole crew of the _Pearl_ looked directly into hell. You closed your eyes and let Barbossa’s arms envelop you. A weak smile crossed your lips as you called out to Her.

“Well, fuck”.

The two ships, as powerless as leaves in the wind, fell face first into the abyss of Charybdis, which swallowed them with a thunderous roar, and then nothing.

…

The gods never gave you a rest. You were barely conscious yet their voices still flooded your mind. Tlaloc was a background rumble, always crashing against you like the waves, while his wife still hadn’t had enough from berating you about your role in the Battle of the Maelstrom and now she laughed at your pitiful state, joined by the cackle of Itzpapalotl, which slowly faded away. You’d learned to ignore them, or else they’d have driven you crazy within the first week, but right now, after having been eaten yet again by another deadly whirlpool and swallowed what seemed like all the water in the bloody Aegean, you only wanted to bash your head against the rocks so that they would _shut up_.

“I hate you all”, you murmured. “I fucking hate you all”.

You slowly opened your eyes and got up. The _Pearl_ and the _Dutchman_ gently bobbed on the surface of the sea, safe and sound as if they hadn’t just barely escaped the two most deadly monsters of the whole Mediterranean, and their crews were strewn across the beach you’d landed on.

It was beautiful, or it would be if you had the stomach to admire it. White sand, luscious greenery behind it, a promontory in the centre of the island from where the whole wide ocean could be seen. It looked like paradise, but you know better.

A small column of smoke rose from the promontory, where a single house stood.

You gave your body a few seconds to get back together and you walked up to Barbossa, who was lying face up on the sand with his eyes closed. For a second your heart skipped a beat but then you heard the rhythmic thumping of his pulse and you allowed yourself to relax. You hadn’t really worried that he (or anyone else, for that matter) would’ve died – if she had allowed that, there would’ve been hell to pay.

“Hector”, you said as you shook him. He wasn’t unconscious, simply dazed, but his eyes came back into focus as he took you in above him.

“Beto? Are we dead?”

“Not that I know of, and I’m the expert here. No, you’re not dead. Well, you and your crew, that is”.

“But the maelstrom…”

“Yeah, Charybdis… What a bitch, eh?”, you smirked as he tried to get up. All around you, the Pearl’s men woke up, looking around in utter confusion. “I knew Poseidon wouldn’t take kindly to us doing sightseeing in his turf”.

“Poseidon? What on seven hells are you talking about?”

“Still got that map?”

“Aye. How come we’re not dead? What shenanigans are you up to, Beto? Don’t play dumb, I saw you as we passed that strait. Whatever you were doing… it’s not good”.

You laughed, a bitter laugh that made the rest of the crew turn towards you.

“No, it’s definitely not good, but then again I’m a vessel for the gods, remember? You could say my whole existence is ‘not good’”.

Barbossa grimaced.

“That ain’t true”.

“Cap’n!” Pintel and Ragetti came running up to you with a swagger that indicated they were still dizzy from the whirlpool. “What’s happened? Where are we?”

Only now you realised your head still hurt from summoning Itzpapalotl, and everything suggested it wasn’t going to get any better…

“Yeah, Beto. Where are we?”, replied Barbossa, turning to you with his arms crossed over his chest.

Behind you, some twigs cracked and branches broke as somebody tore through the foliage to get to you. Barbossa and his men tensed and reached for their guns, which would be useless with all the gunpowder sodden to the core, and you turned to the newcomers with a sigh.

“Well, well, what have we here?”, said a bubbly voice with an unmistakable Welsh accent.

“Hector, guys, welcome to Ogygia”, you smiled as Calypso and Davy Jones appeared before you.

…

“So your father is alive”.

“Well, technically…”

“Don’t come at me with technical bullshit, Beto. He’s alive, he’s right in front of us!”

“I’m in front of you and I’m not really alive!”

“For crying out loud…”

“More tea?” offered Calypso with a crooked smile, appearing out of nowhere with a steaming kettle. Barbossa stared at her, unnerved, and you waved her away.

“We’re good, thank you”.

“We don’t have visitors often. It’s so refreshing!”, she purred.

“I didn’t know you liked visitors, Calypso. Every time I come you chase me out before long. Scared that I’ll stay forever, like your dear Odysseus?”

Davy Jones coughed at the back of the room. The rest of the crew, who had accepted the tea and held it between their hands, shuddered at the sound. Your men knew better than to get in the way, so they’d chosen to remain aboard the Dutchman and take care of any repairs that may have been necessary. Calypso scowled.

“That bloody man. Eight years it took him to build a raft. Eight years! And I had to do it myself in the end so he’d leave! I wonder if that wife of his ever took him back. He was… wearisome”.

“Tell me, Muse, of the man of many ways…”, you sang and laughed.

“So you’ve been here before?”, insisted Barbossa. You nodded.

“We’ve never really spoken about the day of the maelstrom, have we, Hector? You see, at that moment, even though I was about to die… I didn’t even care. All I could think of was of my father. He was dead. He was… gone. I couldn’t bear it. Not when Calypso was free again. So when the waters broke down on me, as I was being dragged down, I could only think _Don’t let him die_. I hoped she’d hear me. I hoped she’d take him back. And that she did. After my rather unexpected second chance at life, by courtesy of my Aztec friends, the first thing I did was rush here to see whether Calypso had listened to me, and when I found them both… Well, you can imagine”.

Barbossa fell silent for a few minutes, that dragged on creating a terribly uncomfortable atmosphere, until he finally spoke.

“So that’s why you never sought revenge on William Turner”.

“I did punch him. Several times”.

“But he’s still alive. I always wondered about that”.

“William Turner!” Davy Jones’ voice exploded from the back of Calypso’s house and he finally decided to join the conversation. “So how’s that little imbecile doing now?”

“Last I saw him he was badly battered after being tortured in a Turkish prison east of here, so all in all not bad, I’d say”.

“Good”.

Barbossa gulped and looked up at Jones. The tentacles had gone, but that didn’t mean he was any less imposing. You could feel the threat emanating from his skin, even if he looked like a gaunt and rather ragged sailor who’d been enjoying retirement for some years now. His eyes, still of a piercing blue, fixed on Barbossa, and the two men stared each other down until you grew tired of their pissing contest.

“Thanks for giving us a hand, Calypso”, you said, walking between them.

“I suppose I couldn’t refuse”, she shrugged. You knew full well she only tolerated you because of Jones, but if she could leave you to drown, she would. It was only fair, you _had_ tried to kill her, after all. “What were you doing by Scylla and Charybdis, anyway?”

“Is this familiar to you?”, you asked, and slapped down on the table the map that Barbossa had handed to you on the beach. Calypso studied it and frowned.

“What do you want with Circe’s spawn?”

“Boy, Odysseus really scored on every Mediterranean island, didn’t he? Word is the _Argo_ is there. I want it”.

“What for?”, intervened Jones.

“Do you object to my having a fleet?”

“I don’t think your new masters would be very happy with that. It’s not what you agreed”.

“They’re not my masters and if they don’t agree they can go fuck themselves. They can try and stop me. Didn’t got that well for them last time”.

“I think they’ll soon regret not letting you die”.

“Oh, they already do, trust me. I’m not too worried about that. So, can you direct us towards Colchis?”

“Retrieving the _Argo_ won’t be as easy as you expect”, said Calypso solemnly. “I doubt Jason will be willing to part with it so easily”.

“I’m sure we’ll be able to persuade him. So?”

“The _Argo_ isn’t in Colchis”.

You looked at Calypso with one raised eyebrow, but she was dead serious. Calypso never made jokes, you remembered, and while that made for sullen, boring dinners, it was just as well in this case.

“Oh? Where is it then?”

“Hades”.

_Fuck._

“Hades? As in the underworld?”, Ragetti dared to ask with that scaredy-cat voice of him. But this time he’d do well to be afraid. Even you were unnerved.

“Exactly as in the underworld. The ship died, together with its master, so if you want to retrieve it you’ll have to descend to the shadowy depths of Hades… and challenge Jason for its mastery”.

“Well, that sounds like fun”, you said. “Who’s coming?”

“Is that wise, Beto?”, asked Jones. You could sense a tinge of worry in his voice.

“No, probably not. Don’t you know me already?”

“You serve a Death God from another underworld. I don’t think it’s a sensible move to tread on somebody else’s turf”.

“I can barely use my powers here, so far from the Caribbean”, you explained. “Hades won’t even know we’re there”.

“So are you certain you wish to go?”, Calypso asked.

You shared a look with Barbossa. He wanted the _Argo_ for you, a link that would forever bind you two. Your hearth thumped inside your chest.

“Yes”, you said. “I’m certain”.

“In that case you must journey across the sea to the Houses of Hades, there where the Styx begins and the light fades, and sacrifice a ram and an ewe to summon the power of the dead necessary to clear your way”.

“Sounds jolly”.

“Do not take this lightly, Meridith Jones”, she cautioned, her voice now more goddess than mortal. “This is Hades’ territory. Not everybody survives a _nekyia_ ”.

“If your man Odysseus did, I don’t see why I shouldn’t”.

You could tell that the mention of Ithaca’s king had upset both her and your father. They still had issues to resolve, didn’t they?

“You won’t be welcome there. It’s not the Mexica’s territory”.

“I’m not welcome in many places. I’m used to it by now”.

Calypso threw her hands into the air in surrender and walked away murmuring something in archaic Greek. You didn’t understand a word, but you doubted she was calling you pretty.

“The map that you got from the prison probably shows the way to the Houses of Hades”, your father said after watching her go, not doing anything to keep her. “Please be careful”.

“I thought you’d know me better than that by now, dad”, you smiled.

“I’ve had my fair share of clashes with Greek gods and trust me, if you think the Caribbean ones are messing with you, you’re in for a treat”.

“I want the _Argo_ ”. Your tone admitted no arguments. “And I’ll have it, no matter how many divine heads I have to step on to get to it”.

Davy Jones sighed. It was still strange to you to see him so human, so thin and defenceless, although you knew that in reality he was anything but, but still it unnerved you. You walked around his chair and gently hugged him from behind, resting your chin on the top of his head.

“I’m proud of you. But I still fear for you”.

“I know”.

“Try not to get killed. Or barring that, very badly maimed. I’ll be waiting here for you when you’re done”.

“Thanks, dad”.

You didn’t like Calypso and she didn’t like you, but she’d given you your father back and, for that, you’d owe her forever.

All was well.

…

“I don’t like this”, cried Ragetti. “It’s giving me goosebumps”.

“Is it because of the blood?”, you asked, lifting in your hand the decapitated head of the ram you’d just sacrificed.

“No… Well, partly”, nodded Pintel.

“Don’t be so flimsy, you’ve seen worse!”

Barbossa walked amongst the men, begrudging them their panicked attitude. Most of them had flat-out refused to follow you past the cave where Calypso had said you’d find the entrance to the Underworld. You supposed it was only to be expected – this was a rather new crew, as the one that had accompanied you to the Locker to find Jack had mostly stayed with them and were now probably running around the Aegean looking for you and for the _Pearl_. Good luck with that.

“So it’s just gonna be six of us? Really? Cowards”.

Barbossa was taking Pintel and Ragetti, who, despite all their protests, had been the only ones who’d accepted joining you, and you’d chosen Maccus and Angler to come with you. You sort of missed Angler’s little head-light, it would surely have come in handy for this.

“I don’t like not being on the water”, moaned Ragetti. “Dry land, you can’t trust it”.

“Trust me, pal, there’s no dry land where we’re going. No water either. Welcome to Erebus”.

With a single torch, your small party ventured down the cave until you lost sight completely of the men that had been left behind and the darkness engulfed you.

…

The Greek underworld was frankly underwhelming. With your experience of Tlalocan and the Locker the bar was low, but holy shit, a dark passageway that had no end in sight? You’d have expected a little more of famous Hades.

“Are you sure we’re going the right way?”, grunted Barbossa behind you.

“Have you seen any other path I may have missed?”

“No”

“Well there you have it”.

“They say that Hades is divided into three areas”, you heard Ragetti say from the back, and you turned towards him, but the darkness was too impenetrable. Both you and Maccus, first and last in the file, carried torched to light the way, making the rest of the crew that accompanied you mere shadows outlined by the fire.

“Do they now?”

“Yes! Elyseum, for heroes; Asphodel Meadows, for, you know, the normal people; and Tartarus, a deep abyss used as a dungeon of torment and suffering for the wicked”.

“Well, Rags”, you smiled, your teeth glinting in the dark, “guess where we lucky pirates are headed to”.

“Where did you get that from?”, asked Barbossa.

“Beto always said we wouldn’t get in so much trouble if we read a bit more, so I started to read”.

“I didn’t know you could read”.

“… I got someone to read to me. They give you credit for trying!”

“Not to crush your dreams, Rags”, you said as you advanced through the tunnel, “but I never said that. The only upside to reading more is that you’ll know exactly what kind of trouble you’re falling into and what kind of death awaits you”.

“Oh… That’s… nice”.

“Hey! I see light!”

Angler was right. At the very end of the tunnel, small enough that one may have though they were imagining it, there was a tiny speck of light that, you hoped, announced the end of your crawl through the darkness.

“Brace yourselves, men”, you said, hand going to the pommel of your sword. You felt Mictlantecuhtli’s power bubbling inside you, trying to surface through the muds of Hades. “Nothing good awaits us at the other side”.

You were only half-right. Indeed, _nothing_ waited you at the other side.

It was still dark, but more like a gloomy winter morning than the silky darkness you’d just waded through. You found yourself in an open field, all rocks and crags, without the faintest sniff of green; in the distance, a sea you couldn’t place roared and broke against the rocks.

“Does this place also work magically or are we going to have to work for it here?”, asked Barbossa. You shot him a look.

“Given that we’re very much not welcome here, I’m sure Hades will make us sweat a bit before we find the _Argo_. But it cannot be far… We summoned it with the ram according to what Calypso said”.

“And she never lies, does she?”

“She lives with my dad, trying to kill me in another god’s underworld would make for terribly uncomfortable family dinners”.

“Point taken”.

“Beto”. Maccus walked up to you, his face circumspect. “I think it _has_ come to us”.

“Wha…”

Suddenly, the shadow of a massive ship that hadn’t been there seconds ago loomed over you and you turned to see the _Argo_ in all its glory standing proud on the top of a promontory above your heads.

It was real.

The _Argo_ was real.

It was gigantic, not as tall as the _Dutchman_ but twice as long, with three rows of oars jutting out of its sides like an angry porcupine, a single white sail in the centre of the ship and two massive white eyes painted on both sides of the rudder. The rest of it was painted in blue and red swirls, a true display of power and magnificence.

You were too dumbstruck looking at the ship to notice the bony arm that crept out of the ground until it impaled you with its sword.

You toppled to the side, more due to the momentum with which the sword had been thrust right through you than because of pain or actual harm, but that didn’t stop Barbossa from yelling your name and lunging for you.

He didn’t reach you in time.

A dozen skeletons rose from the ground and immediately locked in battle with Barbossa, Maccus and the rest.

“Beto!”, he shouted, and it managed to clear your head enough to dodge a second sword thrust aimed right at your skull.

You rolled to one side and removed the skeleton’s sword from your ribcage. Blood flowed, spilling in dark pools at your feet, but you didn’t feel a thing. Inside you, everything was obsidian. You were unbreakable.

Clutching the skeleton’s sword in one hand and your own in the other, you lurched and swung for your enemy’s head, which upon colliding with the blade exploded into a thousand little bone shards. You looked around before blocking an attack from a second skeleton and saw every member of your crew fighting for their lives against an undead army in a scene that looked surprisingly similar, only flipped, from the first few months you spent with the crew of the _Black Pearl_. You let out a little laugh. Ending the curse didn’t seem such a good idea now, did it?

“Hector!”

You kicked out of the way another skeleton, that fell into a neat little heap at your feet, only to be replaced by three more that crawled out of the ground, and pushed your back against Barbossa. Now you fought as one. You had every angle covered.

“And I though life as a married man was going to be boring”, he cackled as he fought off another member of the supernatural retinue.

“I’m glad to be able to keep you on your toes, darling”, you replied, swishing your sword and forcing two more skeletons to pull back.

“You know”, Barbossa said, suddenly pulling you around and pressing himself against you, “this is making me feel things”.

“Oh, dear me, captain”, you purred, stabbing an undead from behind, “is this the best time?”

Barbossa laughed and you thought, to hell with timing, and kissed him. It was those kisses, full of adrenaline, tension and passion, the ones that made your toes curl and your blood buzz, and you drank Barbossa, feeling his lips against you, a roiling fire burning in your gut.

Another swarm of skeletons appeared and your group barely managed to contain them, but them you noticed it.

There was somebody aboard the _Argo_.

A shadowy figure near the mast stood looking down upon you, sprinkling _something_ over the battlefield. Jason? The owner of _Argo_ , keeping guard over it even in death, as Calypso described. He must be the one behind the skeleton army, ordering them to rise and fight. If only you could get up there and overpower him…

You saw the sword coming towards you when it was too late. If your father had taught you anything, it had been to keep your mind in the battle, but you were too proud and headstrong and believed yourself above the worries of common mortals. What if you got stabbed or impaled? You’d get over it soon enough. You could do whatever you wanted.

You only realised your father didn’t say it out of concern for you but for those around you when Barbossa threw himself in front of the blade to block it.

Blood sputtered everywhere as the skeleton’s sword sliced bone, muscle and sinew.

Barbossa toppled over and fell forwards, dropping his blade.

Someone screamed and it took you a few seconds to realise it was you.

You ran towards Barbossa, the thumping of your heart reverberating in your ears, and when you finally reached him and threw yourself to the floor by his side, everything went numb.

_“HECTOR!!”_

There was blood everywhere, more blood than you could stomach. Three skeletons began to close down on you, but you didn’t care. There was only one though in your mind, one broken, bleeding pirate on your knees, one open gash oozing blood too fast for you to stop it…

_Hectorhectorhectorhectorhectorhector_

“Beto”.

His voice was a rough hush, almost inaudible. You choked back a sob.

“You took a bullet for me once. Though it be about time I returned the favour. I keep forgetting ye don’t die”.

“Hush, Hector, hush, don’t speak”. You could barely make coherent sentences. The smell of his blood clogged the air, waking sleeping things that craved it. You pressed your forehead against him, tears streaming down your face. He was cold, impossibly cold, as cold as he was when you first met you, when he was…

“It’s been a good ride, hasn’t it?”, he chuckled, and you sobbed. “Will I see you on the other side?”

You desperately tried to call for help. Anyone, _anyone_. Mictlantecuhtli, Itzpapalotl, Tlaloc, Chalchiuhtlicue, even the unattainable Huitzilopochtli, the Southern Hummingbird, who hadn’t ever deigned to cast a look into your pit of darkness and death.

But nobody came.

The power that lived inside you sputtered out, like a candle on a rainy day, smothered by the unsparing otherness of the realm of Hades. And nobody came.

Hector Barbossa lay dying on your lap and there was nothing you could do to stop it.

_“Hector!!”_

Your voice broke as you wailed, taking his hand in yours and pressing your face against his chest. He was dying, and you’d never be able to follow him.

You’d never cross that final threshold with him.

“I love you”, he said, and everything went still.

You saw a figure standing before you, hair billowing with the wind. The skeletons had paused mid-air, as if suspended in time, and everything, every passing second, every ray of light, every tear that streamed from your eyes, coalesced in that robed figure.

Then everything went black.

…

The first thing you noticed when you opened your eyes was that you weren’t on that dusty plain. Maccus and Angler shouted your name and looked at you anxiously, and a bit further away, Pintel and Ragetti hunched over an inert figure.

It all came crashing down on you and you leapt to your feet in one swift motion.

“HECTOR!!”

The men parted to let you through and you beheld the face of your husband, your lover, your friend, eyes closed and lips pursed. You felt pain explode in your chest, something harsher and sharper than anything you’d felt before, and as you placed your hand on his chest to lay down and kiss him one last time…

Warm.

He was breathing.

You opened your eyes in disbelief and lowered your gaze. His chest rose and sunk slowly, rhythmically, and his wound, although not good-looking, was beginning to heal.

You choked back another sob and trembled, wondering whether it was all a dream, but then a deep voice coming from behind you contradicted you.

“He’ll be fine”.

You turned, fangs bared, ready to pounce, and found a woman staring back at you.

She was sitting down, almost crouching, with a stern look in her eyes and a cruel smile in her lips. Her hair was black and thick with curls, and her eyes shone with a sinister light. She was dressed in black, with a long tunic that pooled at her feet, clothed in simple sandals. Around her waist she had a belt with vials and a long, glistening dagger.

She had something about her, just as you did, that made her look almost human but not quite.

“You’re not Jason”, you blabbered, and immediately felt stupid. The woman laughed. Her voice was deep and gruff.

“Do I look like the imbecile of my husband?”

You shuddered.

“You’re Medea”.

She gave you a slight nod of the head and looked around.

“Everybody that comes here expects to find Jason. How could it be anyone but the proud king of Iolcos the one who guards the _Argo_? And so they find their doom, just as he did. Did you know he died when the rotting carcass of his own ship fell on him and crushed him, like the worm he was? Pathetic. But you… You are different”.

“You tried to kill my husband”, you said, venomous hatred oozing out of your mouth. Medea didn’t seem bothered in the least.

“I gather you would’ve tried to do the same with me when you reached the ship”.

“Why did you save him?”

“He took a blow for you. It’s not something I see everyday. I was… moved. Jealous, if you will. I wanted to know more. Despair not, he will be fine. He only needs a few days of rest”.

“We can’t stay here for a few days”. You bit your lip. Every instinct still pushed you to lunge at that woman and tear out her throat for even _daring_ to think of hurting Barbossa. The fear you’d felt, the sorrow… You’d never forget them. But at the same time, there was something that told you that you needed her on your side. “We don’t belong here”.

“Nobody does until we all do. But you… _feel_ different. I noticed you tried something down there. What was it?”

“Are you familiar with the gods of the Mexica?”

Medea’s eyes glistened and she tilted her head forward to lean on her closed fist.

“Tell me more”.

…

Barbossa opened his eyes slowing, a burning pain splitting his skull in two and travelling down his limbs. His eyelids seemed heavy, his lips cracked and parched.

The last thing he remembered was pain, blood and… you.

He’d saved your life.

In a manner of speaking, as you were technically immortal, but still. He hadn’t thought twice when he’d seen that blade going for you. It had been a sacrifice worth making.

“Hector!!”

Your voice echoed in his ears and you threw your arms around his neck, and even though he still didn’t know where he was or what had happened, if you were there it would be alright.

“Don’t ever, _ever_ do that again!”, you said, cupping his cheeks with your hands, as your eyes starting streaming tears again.

“Do what?”

“Get killed on my account”.

“Ah, my dear, you ask too much of me”.

You kissed him, first with fear, then with a passion you didn’t know you still had in you as your lips touched his, and you pushed your body against him with desperation and need, never wanting to lose him again.

“How quaint”.

“Who is this?”, asked Barbossa, looking askance at Medea, who observed you with an indecipherable expression. His voice still sounded hoarse.

“Medea. The witch of Colchis, ex-wife of Jason. Keeper of _Argo_ , apparently”.

“Do tell me there’s no more cursed gold involved”, he pleased, and Medea scoffed.

“I’m not interested in gold, nor in empty words of gratitude”.

“What are you interested in then?”, you threw back at her. “Why have you helped us?”

“I want freedom. I want agency. I want my own voice back. Do you think I don’t know about the stories that are told out there? About vicious Medea, spurned by her husband, who murdered her own children in cold blood? I’m tired of it. I’m tired of having men, men like Jason who would have me meek and submissive, stealing my story from my lips. I want to tell my own”.

Silence hung heavy over your group. Medea’s words touched a sensitive fiber inside you. You knew that predicament, of course you did, and even though you’d been lucky enough to have been raised by a man who didn’t disregard you because of your gender, you knew the world wasn’t that kind. You’d slit enough pimps’ throats to know better. You’ve saved enough girls from the filthy hands of their abusers to know better.

Why shouldn’t Medea be allowed the same freedom you’d earned?

Somewhere in the back of that strange world you’d walked into, far away from the promontory on which the _Argo_ waited, the sea kept on crashing against the waves.

“You know”, you began, “I could do with another ship. And a captain that can pull through the worst of storms”.

Medea’s eyes glinted.

“What do you propose?”

“Join me. Surrender the _Argo_ to me and join my crew. You can keep this ship as long as you sail under my flag… and follow my orders”.

“Beto!”, Barbossa protested. He’d wanted the _Argo_ for himself, a legendary vessel that he could sail by yourself into eternity, but you now saw, very clearly, that it wasn’t meant to be. There was something about this ship, something old and malicious, that didn’t make it right. Only someone like Medea, so steeped in blood and spite, could be a worthy captain.

“I have other plans for you”, you whispered to him, and offered a hand to Medea. She thought about it, or pretended she did, for a few seconds, but you both knew what the outcome would be.

“I could do worse than work with a fellow witch”, she replied, shaking your hand. Her skin was as cold as the grave.

“Cursed pirate, thank you. I don’t deal with that whole potion business”.

“Is this safe, Captain?”, murmured Maccus to your ear.

“I don’t think Mictlantecuhtli will protest if we add another ship to our retinue, don’t you think?” You then turned to Medea. “So how _do_ we get out of here? We came in through a tunnel, but I guess you can’t fold the Argo and put it into one of your pockets to go back that same way, can’t you?”

Medea smiled mischievously.

“Can you hear the sea?”

“Yeah, somewhere in the distance. Why?”

“In the distance? Oh no, my dear. It’s _here_ ”.

And as soon as she said it the _Argo_ began to rock, from one side to the other, and you and your crew all had to grab onto each other for dear life. Where a second ago there had been rocks, crags and a dusty plain, now there was water, angry dark water whose foam billowed in the wind, licking the sides of the _Argo_.

“What the…!”

“Brace yourself, Captain”, Medea said. “We’re getting out of here”.

“It wouldn’t be the first time I gave Death the middle finger”, you grinned and held onto Barbossa, who was still wondering whether he was having a weird fever dream. The sea jounced, as if it knew you were not supposed to be there and that you were trying to leave, and you tried to reach Tlaloc once more, summoning all the power you could muster.

Before the Lord of Tlalocan could come in your aid, a massive wave swallowed the ship and everything went dark and wet.

…

The _Argo_ emerged from the waters and you gasped for breath. You wouldn’t have drowned either way, that’s not what worried you, but rather that the water from Hades tasted like mud and rotting flesh. It was a flavour that would take some time to remove from your mouth and nostrils.

“I always though the Greek underworld would taste like _moussakas_ ”, you complained as you spat the last remains of water and seaweed.

“How about sometime we just sink a ship or raid a town instead of fighting the gods of death, my love?”, said Barbossa, getting to his feet on wobbly legs. You saw him wince; his wound probably still needed healing, but he’d never ask for help.

“Oh, Hector, you don’t have any sense of wonder and excitement”, you laughed. “As soon as we get back to the _Pearl_ ”.

“Talking about which, where’s the _Pearl_?”

“Are those your men?”, asked Medea, pointing towards the shore, where a group of tiny figures made furious signs with their arms.

“Where’s the _Pearl_?”

“We left it right here”.

“Isn’t that the _Dutchman_? Why is it alone?”

“Hey, guys… Is that… Is that the _Pearl_?”

In the horizon, a tiny speck above the water, the _Pearl_ sailed away alongside the _Empress_ while you looked on with a stupefied expression on your faces.

“What the hell happened here??”, you asked as soon as you and Maccus stepped back onto the deck of the _Dutchman_. You noticed that parts of the railing were broken and plumes of smoke drifted upwards from various points of the ship.

“We were attacked, Captain! The _Empress_ appeared out of nothing, with Captain Swann and Jack Sparrow. We tried to defend the _Pearl_ too, but we chose to protect the integrity of our ship. We’re sorry”.

_“What??”_

That darned Elizabeth. Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice… She’d taken you all for a ride and you’d let her. You’d gotten too comfortable thinking that you’d lost the _Empress_ after your ruse at the Turkish prison and the storm, but you were wrong. You’d underestimated the Pirate Queen, and that was all on you.

Still, and in spite of yourself, you couldn’t help but smile a little at her audacity. How far the maiden from Port Royal had come. A worthy adversary, no doubt.

“Orders, Captain?”

“Get those fools off the coast. They can man the _Argo_ until we get the _Pearl_ back”.

“Get the _Pearl_ back?”, asked Barbossa once he’d finished cursing his guts out, calling Jack Sparrow every name in the book. “Are you thinking of giving chase?”

“Not now, not in these seas. Not until I know what the _Argo_ is capable of doing”. You smirked. “But did you think I’d let them steal _your_ ship?”

Barbossa stood there, confounded, for a split second, and then joined you in your grin.

“Do you have something wicked in mind?”

“Something _very_ wicked”, you purred, and put your arms around his neck. “What would you say to… _Commodore_ Barbossa, huh?”

“Commodore? It certainly sounds… _appealing_ ”, he replied, brushing his lips against yours.

“Commodore of the undead fleet of the _Dutchman_ ”, you continued. “Sailing at its helm… _forever_ ”.

Barbossa started.

“Is it possible?”

“Medea?”

The witch snorted before your display of corniness. She was sitting on the railing of the _Dutchman_ , looking at the sea.

“It can be done. I have many tricks up my sleeve. But it won’t be pleasant. Or pretty”.

“I’m neither, so it sounds right up my alley”, Barbossa laughed and kissed you.

You kissed him back, fiercely, aware of how close you’d been to losing him, and vowed never to let that happen again. Never.

“I’ll get you theback, my love”, you promised, your voice a husky whisper at his ear, “and then we’ll rule the seas together”.

“Agreed”, he replied, grinning as wide as the very first day you set foot upon his deck. You returned the smile and turned to your men.

“Hoist the colours!”, you yelled. “Weigh anchor and raise the mizzen! We’re going home, boys”.

The ship sprang into action while you and Barbossa stood upon the quarterdeck, a hand on the helm of the _Flying Dutchman_ and your eyes on the horizon.

Around you, the men started to sing as the ship sailed into the sun.

_Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate's life for me._

_We pillage plunder, we rifle and loot._

_Stand up me hearties, yo ho._

_We kidnap and ravage and don't give a hoot._

_Stand up me hearties, yo ho._

_Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate's life for me._

_We extort and pilfer, we filch and sack._

_Stand up me hearties, yo ho._

_Maraud and embezzle and even highjack._

_Stand up me hearties, yo ho._

_Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate's life for me._

_We kindle and char and in flame and ignite._

_Stand up me hearties, yo ho._

_We burn up the city, we're really a fright._

_Stand up me hearties, yo ho._

_We're rascals and scoundrels, we're villains and knaves._

_Stand up me hearties, yo ho._

_We're devils and black sheep, we're really bad eggs._

_Stand up me hearties, yo ho._

_We're beggars and blighters and ne'er do-well cads,_

_Stand up me hearties, yo ho._

_Aye, but we're loved by our mommies and dads,_

_Stand up me hearties, yo ho._

**_Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate's life for me._ **


End file.
